Page 24 of Broken Melody
I’ve been stressing out about this dinner all day. And that’s what it is. It’s a dinner - a dinner to get to know each other better. This isnota date. When Britt referred to it as such I freaked the hell out. Maddox doesn’t even like me let alone want to date me. So I keep telling myself that I don’t need to stress over what I wear, how my hair looks, or my makeup as I get ready. Is it working? Well, no, not at all, but that’s not the freaking point.
I’ve already changed my clothes four times, have styled my hair up, then down, then put it half up, then left it down again. I still don’t like it. I’m being stupid. This is stupid. I’m nervous, I know that’s why I’m acting like an idiot, but I can’t seem to help myself. I mean, what if I say or do something that completely blows my chance to sing with Graffiti? I would be devastated.
While I apply my makeup I internally lecture myself. I tell myself to be kind, I tell myself to listen and process words and thoughts before I simply react. Is it likely Maddox could say something to piss me off? If past interactions with him are any indication, then yes. But, I need to remain calm no matter what and remember the big picture here as well as practice the mindfulness techniques I’ve learned. This is the time to use each and every one if needed. If he does something to upset me, I should just smile, nod, and if that doesn’t work, fake it until I make it. Looking into my eyes as I apply mascara, I move back from the mirror and stare at myself. What the hell am I thinking? Forget this. Why am I telling myself to be someone that I’m not? I am who I am, and god knows I’ve worked like hell to be proud of it. I’m finally comfortable with me again, with who I am, and no one, not even Maddox Colt gets to take that away from me. I’ll never let anyone strip me of myself again. I remember all too well what it’s like to be a shell of who I am. Never again.
So, with those thoughts giving me determination, I twist the cap closed on my mascara, throw it in my jewelry bag, then stalk into my room. Grabbing a dress and shoes from my closet, I put them on. No more wondering what the hell I should wear. I like this dress, we’re going to a really nice restaurant, I’m wearing it. The only person I’m dressing for is myself. Sliding the dress over my hips, I put my arms through the sleeveless top and zip it up the back. Looking at myself in the mirror, I run my hands down my sides. The top of the dress is formfitting leather, it cuts off at the dropped waist and the skirt material changes to something softer – more feminine – a soft spandex infused knit that cuts off mid-thigh. It’s adorned with thick imprints of diamond chains that wrap around the skirt and look like well placed tinsel. They dip in a way that makes it look like actual chains are hanging from the fabric. I pair the dress with tall studded heels that are one of my favorites, and then reach back in my closet for a black clutch and quickly put the essentials inside.
Looking at myself again, I determine that the dress requires an up-do, so I pull my hair back into a low messy knot. Checking my makeup once more, I grab my nude lip gloss from my dresser and swipe it across my lips before placing it in my clutch. Taking in the full look in the floor length mirror, I smile. It’s total rocker chick chic and I make it look good. More importantly, I feel confident and comfortable in my own skin. I’m wearing this look, not the other way around. Pushing my shoulders back, I lift my chin, grab my bag, and walk out of my room and into the living room where Britt sits in front of the TV. She begged to help me get ready earlier, wanting to fret and take care of me in her own way I’m sure, but I begged off. I told her I needed to be alone with my thoughts before I left. I think she was a bit bummed, but she understood. I’m lucky to have her in my life.
“Wow, Sailor,” she smiles widely when she sees me. “You look fantastic.”
“Why, thank you,” I tell her with a smile then do a little spin and laugh. “I feel good,” I tell her and she smiles and nods because it’s clear I mean it.
“Are you ready for this?” She asks me and I shrug, “Yeah. I mean, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was nervous, but I kind of had a come to Jesus talk with myself.”
“Oh yeah?” she asks in amusement. “And how did that go?”
“Well, actually. I’m not about to let my insecurities take over and tell me to be anyone but myself while I’m with him. It would be easy to do so because I want this to work out so bad. But, if he doesn’t like me and we really can’t get along, then so be it. I don’t know that I’d want to be picked anyway if that’s the case.” I sit on the edge of a chair. “I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse than Maddox Colt not liking me. Will it be disappointing, yeah, but that’s okay. I’ll survive.”
“That’s my girl,” she says with a smile, “And I’ll be here every step of the way.”
“I know you will,” I smile at her and she returns it. “Thank you for that.” She makes a gesture that’s clearly telling me not to thank her. “Alright, well, I’m out of here,” I tell her after I get a text notifying me that my ride service is outside.
“Okay, text me if you can. Call me if you need to. If anything comes up, I’m here, and if needed I can be there as soon as I can.”
“Will do,” I tell her and stand. When she does too I impulsively give her a hug, then leave.
My knee bounces the whole car ride to the restaurant. The driver tries to make small talk with me and I’m sure I return it, but honestly, I don’t even know what we talk about. My mind and nerves are all over the place. The only two times that I’ve been around Maddox so far he’s been a complete ass. But then last night, when we were outside of the bar talking, there was a flash of something in his eyes. A flash of something more. Of a story that goes deeper than what he allows to be seen on the surface. Something in it called to me, and while I don’t want to make assumptions, I get the feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye. With those thoughts, I encourage myself to let go of the negative interactions and try again.
When the driver pulls up to the restaurant, I thank him and walk out. The fancy restaurant sits on a busy street in L.A. There’s a patio outside the restaurant with large umbrellas that can barely be seen over the tall and large hedges that offer diners privacy. Moving through the pathway between them, I walk inside the door and am immediately greeted by a hostess. “Hello. Welcome to Thorn,” she smiles at me.
“Hi, thank you,” I respond. “My name is Sailor Blue and I’m here to meet Maddox Colt. I’m not sure if he’s already arrived?”
“Oh yes, Miss Blue, we are expecting you,” she says as she looks down at the hostess table in front of her and marks something off on the paper. “Mr. Colt called and said to apologize to you because he will be a few minutes late. He asked me to please show you to your table. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there now.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
We weave through other diners swiftly and she leads me to a table in the back corner, that’s set for five. Looking around, I feel confused. The hostess holds out my chair, and I take a seat. She hands me the menu and smiles. “Ricardo will be here shortly to get your drink order.”
“Okay, thank you,” I tell her deciding not to ask her about the large table. Maybe this is Maddox’s usual spot and he likes plenty of room or something, I don’t know. I quickly convince myself not to consider that his being late is a manipulative act - I almost do.
Setting the menu down, I take a moment to check out my surroundings. I’ve never been inside this restaurant before. I’ve seen pictures of it in a magazine, and have driven by plenty of times, but I’ve heard reservations are impossible to get if you aren’t an a-lister. This place is a favorite of several celebrities, so much so that the paparazzi photographs them walking in and out all the time. I’ve seen plenty of photographs of celebs sitting on the patio, and I always wonder how the hell they get those photos given the tall hedges.
The inside of the restaurant is really beautiful – from the black and white marble floors, the crisp white tablecloths, the high backed black suede chairs, and the Queen Anne sofas. There are tall silver vases filled to overflowing with white flowers and abstract paintings line the walls. Looking at my menu, I take a peek at the prices and almost drop the glass of water I bring to my lips. Good thing I’m making a decent salary right now because holy hell. A freaking side salad is fourteen dollars. Suddenly, I remember an old episode ofFriendswhere Phoebe and Joey don’t have money when they go out to eat with their other friends and they order water and a salad – Joey the soup. That’s going to be me.
Just as I’m pretty sure I spot Henry Cavill dining across the restaurant with another actor whose name escapes me, I’m distracted by four men across the room. I glance at them, then do a double take as I realize that the four men being pointed in my direction is the band – with Maddox in front. My god, they are four, very good-looking men. It’s almost as if all the energy in the room shifts toward them.
It may be a fancy restaurant but Maddox kills the casual without a care look. His dark hair is styled to perfection, his facial hair making me want to know what it would feel like tickling my face, his blue grey eyes staring at me intently. I can’t help but let my eyes roll over his body. A simple black t-shirt that displays the tattoos on his arms, jeans that fit him so well it’s sinful, and black leather boots all look good on him and somehow manage to scream rock and roll. Trailing Maddox is Rocco, his bright blue eyes take in the room with a smile on his face, the lights shining on his hair make it even redder. He’s cute with freckles sprinkled across his nose, and he’s wearing jeans as well, but he’s sporting a collared button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, also displaying multiple tattoos. Nixon comes next, dark hair shorn close to his head, dark eyes, piercings and tattoos for days. He’s wearing a long sleeve shirt, sleeves pulled up and black jeans. His look screams bad boy even more so than Henley who brings up the rear. His blonde hair is longer and practically an art form with the way he has it styled to flip just right with a shake of his head. He’s wearing a vintage Nirvana shirt and ripped jeans. His combat boots smack on the floor as he walks and there’s a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. All very different in their looks, yet all hot as hell.
Standing to greet them, I smooth down my dress and step around the table. Maddox walks to me first and something flashes in his eyes as they take a heated and leisurely tour up and down my frame. Impatient, Rocco steps around Maddox and smiles, “Sailor, hi,” he hugs me which takes me a little off guard, but it’s nice. “Good to see you again,” he says.
“Hi, guys,” I address them all. “I wasn’t expecting to see all of you, but that explains all the extra seats at the table,” I laugh good-naturedly.
At this Maddox sighs, “Yeah, you and me both.” With a shrug, he walks to a chair across from me and takes a seat. Rolling his eyes at Maddox, Henley walks to my chair and pulls it back from the table once again, waiting for me to take a seat. I smile brightly at him, “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he murmurs and I swear Maddox murmurs something under his breath. I’m positive I’m correct when I catch him scowling at Henley and Henley smiling brightly at him in turn.
“I thought I was only meeting Maddox because he wanted to learn more about me and talk about what it’s like being a professional. Additionally, I guess we need to determine if we can get along. He said you guys are worried about that – about whether or not we’ll end up creating a problem for everyone,” I fade off as everyone looks at each other and I feel like I’m missing something. A look at Maddox finds him with his face buried in his menu.
